A Brennan’s Bread delivery van – rusted and rather dishevelled – makes its way all too haphazardly via the larger, far lesser known road in this particular instance
Rickety procedure
Old Mr McGuckian is adamant entirely on his latest delivery getting there just in time – if needs be he brings it into full-throttle, cross that border when it comes to it, gladly
All along people work and wait for their delicious evening supper with famous bread all too jovially added to the mix so as to make that all too telling difference
These scabby hands will stop at nothing to strut their hungry stuff
A few too many charred and seriously manic bangers flaked adoringly upon the sizzling grill won’t hurt one bit either – the memory-inducing aroma causing all of the other homely smells to turn a sudden hue of green, prepared to fight it out nonetheless
Tomato ketchup, Heinz please, to really soak this memory in precious stone, set their rural, battle-hardened smiles in glorious motion
He will smile because it all makes absolute sense to him again
A gratuitous pat on the back to show him just how much his daily travail has all been worth it, a slog of his ritualistic own that they have undoubtedly come to cherish over time
There can be nothing better in this living, breathing world of ours than a farmer’s gracious thump to the core of your inviting being – been through the wars and you’re his holy grail of reassuring sorts, when routine means all kinds of everything
Where there’s a rhyme there has to be a sumptuous reason, and the reason come seven o’ clock in the jaded p.m., soon as the cattle are getting to sleeping, truly is second-to-none

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